


My second life

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: DCU (Comics), Grayson (Comics)
Genre: Drinking, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The acting is the easy part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My second life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [klose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/klose/gifts).



> A slightly delayed birthday gift for epigenetics who is the actual best in every possible way I can think of and who has been a stellar friend and a constant positive presence in my life. This lowkey Grayson/Bond-inspired fusion has been brought to you by my love of our shared OTP and the fact that I’ve been watching spy films on repeat this past weekend.
> 
> (I forgot to post this here omg but it's been on tumblr for like 2 weeks)

"Let me guess," Bruce murmurs, gaze lingering at the undone collar of Dick’s shirt and the notch of throat that open shirt reveals when Dick sidles up to the bar beside him. His eyes seem to darken with desire even as a small smile curves up the corners of his mouth after he takes Dick in with a lingering onceover. "You’ll be wanting a martini now, am I right? Shaken, not stirred?"

Even while dressed to the nines with liberal amounts of product slicking down his dark hair, Dick still manages a carefree smile for Bruce along with a faintly amused roll of his eyes.

"Don’t be ridiculous, Bruce," Dick says, reaching out to tap two fingers against Bruce’s cheek where there’s enough stubble left behind from his routine to make him look rakish and eager for a roll in the sheets. "Real spies don’t actually drink on the job. It’s an act."

Dick reaches out to knock the knuckles of those same two fingers against the side of Bruce’s glass, jostling the heavy tumbler hard enough that the scant amount of amber liquid inside sloshes around.

"And besides, I’m not going to let you order anything for me now that I’ve seen what you’re drinking. I like my drinks to have slightly more taste than gasoline."

Bruce raises his glass to his lips, hiding his smile behind the rim before taking a slow deep sip.

"Shall I order a virgin drink for you then?" Bruce asks once his glass is empty. "I wouldn’t want you to feel as though you weren’t blending in properly." He makes as if to call the bartender over to their mostly secluded side of the hotel bar before the touch of Dick’s hand to his wrist stops him in his tracks.

Dick shakes his head.

"I’m fine, Bruce. I promise." He pats the back of Bruce’s hand gently, turning it into a caress at the very last moment when Bruce glances up at him, smiling faintly. "No drinks necessary. I’m going upstairs with you no matter what."

Bruce glances down at Dick’s open shirt and the skin revealed there, thick eyebrows furrowing briefly. “Is this the part in the act where I’m supposed to call you ‘easy’?”

"Only if you want me to order a drink just so I can pour it all over you."

Dick’s answering smile is knife sharp, widening at the way that Bruce just can’t keep his eyes off of his mouth. Dick dips his head, leaning into the line of Bruce’s body until there’s barely room for air to move around between them and his mouth brushes Bruce’s cheek.

"Dick —" Bruce all but _growls_ , his voice a low, scotch-scented rumble against Dick’s skin.

One of his hands settles on Dick’s hip underneath the lines of his dark gray suit jacket, his grip hard and possessive enough to sear even through fabric as Dick makes himself nice and comfortable standing between his legs with his long arms looped loosely around Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce is hard, of _course_ he’s hard, and with how close Dick is standing to him, there’s no way to pretend otherwise.

The hand on Dick’s hip starts a steady slide down to Dick’s rear end, a rare sign of Bruce edging close to losing control. A mild look from Dick however, quickly halts the progress of Bruce’s hand.

"Business first," Dick says, barely allowing the volume of his voice to rise above a whisper. "Then pleasure."

Bruce’s tongue flicks out to moisten his lips. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line.”

Dick snorts, the resulting sound seeming inelegant but charming as he somehow manages to press _closer_ to Bruce.

"We both know full well that that’s not a gun you’ve got jabbing me," Dick teases. "But if you want to pretend otherwise…" Dick trails off with a meaningful wiggle of his eyebrows.

Bruce tilts his head back slowly, gaze firmly fixed on the sharp line of Dick’s as though that jut of bone is the most fascinating thing in the world. The hand that he has on Dick’s hip clenches tightly, pressing in until Dick’s breath punches out of his chest in a low, needy sound and he leans in, lips already parted in anticipation of a kiss.

Of course, Bruce doesn’t disappoint.

Their mouths slot together as though they were made for each other, the fit of their bodies evident in yet another way as one of Dick’s hands curves against the nape of Bruce’s neck to hold him in place.

Dick groans into the kiss, feeling Bruce shift against him as he feels a heavy hand sliding down to squeeze his ass.

Dick doesn’t know how long they remain like that, half-hidden in the shadows of the bar and trading kisses that increase in intensity until the line of Dick’s tailored suit is all but ruined by the press of his erection, but by the time that they come back to themselves enough to stop kissing, Dick’s mouth feels hot and tender.

"I think —" Dick pauses to clear his throat, but when he starts speaking again, his voice is still rough with want. "I think I’ll take that drink now."

A smile comes immediately to Bruce’s face. “You will?”

Dick can’t help smiling back at him. “And I’ll take it in your room while we’re at it.” 


End file.
